


Sure

by tereomaori



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Love, Protective John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12302787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tereomaori/pseuds/tereomaori
Summary: A quiet scene in Baker Street. John is asleep, Sherlock is experimenting. And thinking about John.





	Sure

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native speaker, but I'm doing my best:)

Sherlock looked up from his experiment for the first time in what must have been nearly two hours. He realised he must have stopped talking to John somewhere between starting the experiment and looking up just now. 

He turned around to find John asleep on the sofa. He looked at him for a while, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Sleep. Two hours ago, the mere thought of it had seemed dull and unnecessary and impossible, almost repulsive. It did not seem so unpleasant now, with John asleep on the sofa and not even the usual amount of traffic noise to disturb the silence. 

Quietly, Sherlock got up, and barefooted he walked across the room and switched off the light. He made his way back to the sofa, guided by the last glowing embers of the fire. Carefully, he lay down next to John, somehow managing to find space for the both of them on the sofa by curling himself around his friend, finally nestling his face against John’s shoulder. Sherlock smiled. The soft, warm cloth of the jumper John wore still smelled of the biscuits he had made in the morning.

John seemed to be vaguely aware of Sherlock’s presence, he shifted slightly, adapting to the new position, but did not wake up. 

Sherlock often found falling asleep unnerving because all the thoughts and facts and connections slowly drifted away, out of his reach, and he didn’t want to let them go.

Everyone looked helpless when they slept. Sherlock could not help assuming it was the same with him, so the helplessness was another thing he hated about sleeping. 

Waking up and having to look for the thoughts that had been there before was almost as bad.

But he had learned he found both easier when John was near him. Falling asleep with John beside him did not feel like complete, helpless exposure to the world. It felt much better, warmer, safer.

He knew it didn’t really make much sense that he felt safer when he slept like this because after all, John – like him – was usually asleep then. Yet somehow he had a feeling that whatever or whoever might decide to come near him in his sleep would first be dealt with by John. In fact, he could recall a few occasions that had proved his assumption to be correct. Even Greg had been sent away by John without the information he had come to get a few times, when he had chosen the wrong moment for a visit. Sometimes it was good not to be involved, not to be asked for explanations. John knew when.

John was his protection. He protected Sherlock from himself, when he was bored and dangerously close to being an insufferable person. He protected Sherlock from self-destruction. He protected others from what Sherlock could be when he was bored or impatient or exasperated. And he protected Sherlock from other people, from the things they said about him and the way they looked at him at times, people like Sally Donovan, for example.

So, John Watson was his protection in many respects. And he did not shrink from protecting Sherlock physically if there was no other way. Others had tried to protect Sherlock before he had met John, mostly his family, of course. 

Sherlock smiled when he thought of Mycroft fighting criminals with his umbrella. 

Mycroft had always regarded it as his duty to guide and protect his little brother. Sherlock even had to admit Mycroft had more than once put up with very un-mycroft-like situations to help him. 

But he would never have joined in or, god forbid, started a physical fight for Sherlock’s sake. John did that. When Sherlock was confused, distressed or unwell and someone raised their hand against him, it was John who ended up fighting. It was John who kept people at bay. In fact, it was John who kept the world at bay at times. Because there really were moments when the world was too much. Even the tiniest bit of it, like the sound of the doorbell. 

And then there were times when the world wasn’t enough. When the confusing, dazzling, breathtaking, sparkling, irritating, exciting, incredible whole of it simply wasn’t enough. When Sherlock felt like tearing the world to pieces for its suffocating banality, it was also John who put up with him. 

John knew Sherlock could set the world on fire if he wanted to. But he wouldn‘t do it. Because Sherlock wasn’t like that. He worked for pleasure, of course, and to test his limits, to prove to himself that he was a genius because the rest of the world believed it already but, as they were idiots, their conviction was no proof for _him_. Sometimes it just seemed too easy. 

But still, that wasn’t all. John doubted whether Sherlock had got much pleasure from letting Moriarty ruin him in public. And he didn’t have to pretend to be dead for two years to know he had outsmarted his rival. 

Instead of turning his inner rage against his environment, Sherlock had passed periods of inactivity by indulging in gradual self-destruction. He had made drugs his remedy for dangerous days. 

Moriarty had not needed drugs because he had himself created the excitement he craved. He had used the world like a chess board for his entertainment.

John was sure about Sherlock. He had never doubted him, on the contrary: Sherlock’s presence gave him a strange feeling of safety. 

Sherlock knew nothing of these thoughts and feelings John had about him. But it was enough to have John quietly asleep on the sofa in his arms to prove that he was sure about Sherlock. 

That didn’t mean Sherlock did not feel the need to test and prove his intelligence with John around him.

But it did tell Sherlock he was doing well, really.


End file.
